


Stiles's First Words

by EmilysRose



Series: Love Me Tender [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Happy Ending, Healing, Lace Panties, M/M, Meditation, Recreational Drug Use, Sexting, Smoking, Tattoos, Yoga Instructor Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 15:51:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16600958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilysRose/pseuds/EmilysRose
Summary: Stiles is forced into a kind of blind date with Cora's brother. He doesn't expect to fall in love.





	Stiles's First Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yinka_Wills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yinka_Wills/gifts).



> This was a good suggestion so I decided to write it. I know nothing about yoga and it's probably obvious.

Stile’s Dad hated that he lived in New York.

 _It’s a scary place, Stiles. The crime rate is terrible, Stiles. You’ll get mugged, Stiles_.

And _sure_ —he got mugged twice the first week living in a big city. But that was the first week and after two years he had learned where not to go at night and how to make friends in the world’s most unfriendly city. So he could honestly say “No way, daddy-oh, New York is safe as apples” whenever his Dad complained about him living so far away in the big scary City.

See, Stiles had never felt _unsafe_ in New York. The muggings had been quick after Stiles had given up his wallet without a fuss. In seconds he was calling his bank to cancel his card, glad that cash was't even a thing people carried anymore.

And that one time he’d been in a convenience store where someone held it up at gunpoint—the cashier had been scarier than the robber. Damn woman had taken out a sawed-off and said, “You feeling lucky, punk?” with a totally straight face. The robber ran out to fucking cheers and clapping.

New York wasn't scary at all.

So Stiles didn't even flinch when he walked into a pure wall of muscle and leather and got the death glare to end all death glares. Or maybe it was the death glare to give the boner of all boners. Stiles couldn’t quite say. He was equal parts terrified and equal parts aroused as the guy looked over his shoulder and—“Well hello there, eyebrows.”

Had he just said that? Yes, he had, if the eyebrows were any indication. It was fucking wonderful that the guy could somehow glare harder. “Am I in the wrong place? Did the _Bend and Snap_ somehow become a biker bar?” He asked. But nope, this was his yoga studio. Same pastel walls, wooden floors, and Erica, sitting behind the counter, grinning like a damn maniac. Stiles had to look around Mr. Sexy Death Glare just to see it all—since the guy was standing _literally_ in the doorway. “No? Cool.”

“I’ll go.” Dr. Glare said. He had a surprisingly soft voice, quiet.

“Wait! I thought you were doing classes?” Erica asked. She gave Stiles a very pointed look. He knew that look. It was on her face every time he was trying to get a straight guy to look down her cleavage at the club. The ‘be my damn wingman, not my gay clit-block’ look.

“Ohh—no! C’mon, my man.” Stiles said. He pressed his back against the door. The guy seemed unwilling to touch him or break his own personal bubble by reaching for the door handle. He shuffled backwards, trying to keep both Erica and Stiles in his line of sight. “First class is free—” It was not, actually, “And it’s couples class right now. I don’t have a partner—” Because he was an instructor and Erica was his co-instructor, “And you’d be doing me a _huge_ favor.”

“Stiles!” _Clit-blocker_ she mouthed when he looked at her.

But no way, no way in _Hell_ was Stiles going to give up the chance to move around with Mr. Death Glare. He was so hot he could burn up pictures of Ryan Gosling with his aftershave. Stiles looked at the guy, who was glaring at the floor like he wanted _that_ to burn up and take Stiles with it. “It’s a beginners class, why not try?” Stiles asked, lowering his voice a little to get past the obvious ‘don’t talk to me’ air. “It’s really not bad.”

“I—sure.” The guy bit out.

“Great!” Stiles clapped, which made the guy’s head snap up so he could glare at Stiles directly. “All settled then, Erica here will get your paperwork done and meet me and the others in studio four. I’m Stiles, by the way, you’re lovely instructor,” He gave a bow. He tried not to think about _why_ he gave a bow, but he did. “And you are…”

The guy just stood there, glaring with his eyebrows and his beautiful face. “What.”

“Ahh… what’s your name?” _Good thing your pretty,_ he thought. Which was ungracious of him, it really was. He was having rude thoughts—but the guy was so off putting it was weird.

“Derek.” The guy bit out again.

“Well Derek, come on over here.” Erica teased. She was leaning forward so all her cleavage popping out of her sports bra. When Derek’s back was turned to him, he stuck his tongue out at her before hopping up the stairs to get prepared for class.

He had his buddy Scott had ended up taking yoga classes for Lacrosse back in high school. It was weird, but so was their Coach. After the teasing and the laughing and trying to do the most impossible positions imaginable--they both ended up loving it. Scott used yoga to keep limber in his long college Lacrosse career and Stiles kept up with it because it was the only physical exercise he liked. Landing a job as an instructor at _Bend and Snap_ was probably the best thing in his life; he kept fit, he made good friends, and it gave him the ability to touch hot guys. In a totally non-sexual way, of course. He was a professional.

He flicked on the lights for studio four and walked over to the stereo. Slowly the class started to fill up with the usual couples that came to his Tuesday-Thursday. He sat patiently until he saw—ah, yes, dark and broody.

“All right class!” He said, sitting down on his yoga mat. “Let’s a get a yoga-ing. I’m to yoga? Like tango or boggie. But yoga isn’t really a dance, until you’re super into slow dancing with yourself in weird positions. Which I am. All my alone time is in weird positions.” He waggled his eyebrows. Dark-and-Broody hadn’t moved from the corner and he looked constipated, his eyes trailing towards the door of the studio like he’d rather be _anywhere_ else.

“Right.” He rolled his shoulders back.

“Let’s begin. Derek, there’s a mat over there for you. You can barrow it.” He pointed to the mat he’d placed at the side of the room, away from the main crowd. Stiles figured he’d appreciate being unobserved. He watched Derek stalk over to the pink mat with the sunset on it like that too could burn up under his glare.

“All right, everyone get into a comfortable position.” Stiles got into his own, crossing his legs in front of him he kept his spine straight and his palms on the exposed skin of his knees where his basketball shorts had ridden up a little. Josh ended up lying on his back and Susan, as always, got into childs pose. He looked over to Derek, who was looking at everyone with a frown-line between his murderous brows. He looked at them, then at Stiles. Eventually, he tried adopting Stile’s position but he looked—stiff. Uncomfortable. Stiles would have to work on that with him.

“Close your eyes,” He told Derek, since he was the only one left with his eyes open. “Listen to the sounds of my voice or as you feel your center. Feel the way you touch the ground, the way your skin touches itself. Feel the way your chest rises and falls as you breathe. The way the air feels. Free your mind, breathe—in and out.” Stiles did that himself, closing his eyes and concentrating only on his own body. On the looseness of his shoulders. The feel of air in the back of his throat. The rise of his chest, the fall.

He was great at meditating. The best at it, actually. Trail and error and pure persistence had gained him the ability to at once clear his mind and relax for a change. To let the energy and presentence of thoughts leave him for a second. It was peace, pure peace. But today he was having a hard time. Today, there was a nagging thing in the back of his mind that made him open up his eyes and look to Derek.

Derek, who was glaring at the wall and rubbing his chest in little circles. Right on the breastbone. Definitely not meditating.

“Keep breathing, lose yourself in the relaxation. Amy, no sleeping.” A fuck chuckles at that, and Amy threw up her thumb.

Stiles stood. Derek turned his glare to him as he headed over. “All right, what’s up?” He asked, crouching down in front of the guy. “You can’t relax?”

“This is stupid.” He hissed. But his eyes were dancing at everyone else, obviously envious of their gentle rhythms.

Usually Stiles just nodded and encouraged a person to go to a different class, one more focused on the physical aspects of yoga—but this guy looked like he was two seconds away from snapping. So Stiles said, “Lay on your side.”

“What?”

“Lay on your side.” Stiles pointed to the mat. “C’mon, just try for me.”

Stiles thought the guy was going to deck him—but Derek eventually laid down on his side. “Okay, pull your knees up to your chest, as much as you can, yeah, like that. Put your head on your arm, the other around your knees… good, that’s great. Do you feel comfortable?” The guy was so massive that even curled up into a ball, he wasn’t really _curled_. But he did look comfortable. At least, a lot more than he did while sitting up. “Close your eyes, Derek. Great. Now the thoughts in your head, they’re hindering you. Holding you back. Your worrying over the past or anxious over the future. Forget all that bullshit. Your thoughts trick you that way. Focus on your body instead. That’s in the present. That’s you. Feel the way you're grounded into yourself, the way you're holding yourself, the way your breathing. Feel the tension in your shoulders, your spine, your body. Let it go. Don’t think of why it’s there—just let it go. If you feel yourself slipping, tensing, just go back to your breathing. Take things in, let them go. That’s it, yeah.” Slowly he watched Derek’s curled fist loosen up, he watched the guy go into a deep breathing. “Perfect, you're doing perfect.” And that seemed to loosen him up even more.

Stiles stood and walked away. When he sat down on his mat, it was better. There was still that nagging, that need to be aware of Derek's tension, but it was easier to get to that calm place meditating gave him.

Twenty minutes and he heard the chime from his phone preprogrammed in. A few eyes snapped open and people got up to jump around and shake their limbs while others—like Amy—got up groggily. Stiles watched as Derek slowly uncurled himself and laid on his back, just staring at the ceiling.

“Let’s get into positions, then. Today I’ll be working with Derek instead of Erica, so we’ll go over moves we already know. Derek, you wanna move your mat up here?”

Derek looked like he wanted to do anything _but_. He moved slowly as he grabbed the mat and moved it next to Stiles’s. “All right. Back to back—” He nodded to Erica as she entered the room, moving around to correct positions and encourage. “Sit cross legged. Put your hands by your side, loose, with your palms to the floor. Keep those palms on the floor as you lean back against me.” Derek seemed to hesitate behind him. “Just lean back. You’re your entire weight on me.”

“I’m… heavy.” Derek said, in his soft voice.

“That’s okay, buddy. The heavier the better.” Very slowly Derek put his weight back as it forced Stiles’s body to lean forward over his own lap. He let the stretch take over, experiencing the tightness in his arms as he placed them in front of his bowed head. “Don’t put any weight on your arms, just me. Feel the stretch in your sternum, your spine. Bowl backwards.” Erica came over to correct his position a bit, and Derek’s head ended up lying on the back of his neck. “You’re doing great.” He said, and like before, that little bit of encouragement seemed to make Derek melt.

They switched and did a few more positions. Simple things for leaning on each other and using the other’s person’s body for posses or to keep tension. Derek was totally inflexible—and his tight jeans made it all the worse. He seemed unwilling to do any positions that rode his shirt up—literally the guy tucked his shirt into his jeans to prevent it—and snapped every now and then as Erica came over to correct the position. Gentle encouragement seemed to be the only way to get him to relax, to ease up. In a snap second, he could turn angry.

“Okay—” Stiles said, feeling a little drained. He got up from his downward dog and slapped Derek on the shoulder, ignoring how the muscles tensed under his palm. “Great class everyone. See you all on Thursday. Now remember, we’re opening up some pilates classes and some Zumba. Tell your friends and sign up!” He watched them hang around and slowly pack up, all except for Derek who looked like he was trying to get out the door as discretely as possible. He was so sneaky about it was it was obvious. “Derek!” Stiles said, “Come here a minute.”

The guy looked caught. He nearly jumped, even. “What?” He asked, glaring at Stiles.

“You did really great today.”

“No, I didn’t. I can’t even touch my toes.”

That was true. The guy was as stiff as board and it was obvious that he hardly stretched before going to the gym. He was all muscle and no lithe. “That’s okay, that’s what people are here for, right? When I first started yoga I was terrible at it, couldn’t do shit.”

Erica pipped in. She slung her arm around his shoulder and said, “Wait, you're talking about when you first started? What about last class? It was _terrible_! He fell all over himself trying to balance on his feet, Derek, it was awful to look at.”

“Har har. I’ll remember that when you fail repeatedly at doing a lotus.”

“Meanie.” She pouted—and then she was gone, off to do her own advanced singles class in the next studio.

“So, Derek.” Stiles said, to catch the guys attention as he watched Erica walk off.

“This isn’t about talent. It’s not even about potential. It’s about sticking with it. You’re only ever as good as the effort you put in.” Something Scott used to say—it always annoyed Stiles when he heard it, but over the years he’d found himself preppily repeating Scott’s sports mantras like little golden nuggets. It made him sound wise. And like a fortune cookie.

“Right. Sure.” Derek said, still not looking at him. Everywhere _but_ him actually.

“Well, all right—” He was about to say that he hoped to see Derek again—which was the truth, Stiles really liked looking at the guy—when he noticed the equality symbol on his wrist again. For all their touching and leaning against each other, he hadn’t been able to comment about it. “Hey, we match!” He said, just because he had nothing to do after class but go home to do homework or bug Scott for a Zombies match—he lifted up his shirt to show the equality symbol on his heart. “Different place but same message, eh?”

“Right. I have to go.” Stiles had never seen anyone _run_ from him before. Well, no, that wasn’t true. Plenty of people had run from him— but never out of fear. He watched Derek bolt and had no idea what to think about it.

\---

He couldn’t get Derek out of his head. The guy would randomly pop up in his thoughts throughout the day as he was in class, or studying, or doing a lecture. It was worse when he was in class, trying to encourage a student to twist their body one way or another—or when he saw an angry person on the street. Derek was always on his mind.

It had been three weeks since he’d seen the guy and it was only getting worse. Sometimes he’d be cooking and wonder what had happened to him. Or he’d be in line for coffee wondering what Derek was doing. Or what was glaring at in the moment. And Stiles was getting _obsessed_. Over a guy he knew for what, an hour and a half?

“To be fair, he was totally hot.” He said.

“Wait, what?” Scott asked, putting down the burger he was about to bite into. “Did I miss something? We’re we having a conversation?”

“In his head, maybe.” Cora said, flicking through something on her phone.

Stiles threw a fry at her, which landed harmlessly on her plate before she snatched it up. “I’m talking about that one guy—the yoga guy.”

“Yoga guy?” Cora asked, rolling her eyes. “What, found yourself a hot new bear?”

“Yeah, he’s been talking about this dude nonstop for a while now.” Scott agreed. “Hot angry yoga guy.”

“Wait…” Cora looked up from her phone finally. “Tall, pale, murderer eyebrows?”

“You know hot yoga guy!” Stiles cheered. “Wait, how do you know hot yoga guy?” Sometimes New York was so weird. Thousands of people crammed in one city and everybody knew each other.

“Derek is my brother.” Cora said. ”I can’t believe he actually went to yoga.”

“Wait wait wait— _Derek_ is your shut in brother?” Stiles had heard her complaining about the guy locking himself away from social contact since he’d known her. It was all she talked about when Malia was around. Or when she was drunk. Or when Laura—scary Laura—facetimed her. Honestly, whenever she started talking about her brother he tried to change the conversation because it was sad and circular and went on for hours. She was all: my brother won’t leave his house, or I’m going to kill that bitch Kate, or he really needs to get a life—or something like that. Honestly, Stiles tried to tune her out because it wasn’t his business.

Only now it totally was his business because it was hot yoga Derek that was her brother. “What happened to him? Why is he so tense and—ah… wow. Yeah, no, I realize how insensitive that was, my bad.” He said, trying to wave away the glare on her face. Weird how he hadn’t noticed the family resemblance before. They were both really hot and really angry. “Dead family, fire. Yeah, got it.”

“You’re such a dick.” Scott said, in his loving Scott way. Burger chunks fell out of his mouth as he spoke.

“I never admitted otherwise.” Stiles turned back to Cora. “But your kind of normal, why did he take it so hard? What’s up with him?”

“His last girlfriend abused him. Tried killing him when he broke up with her.”

“Jesus Christ.” Okay—this is what he got for getting involved in other people’s lives. Crazy shit? Was not what Stiles got into. He liked normal, well-rounded people. Weird people, sure, but no one who got into the kinds of relationships where abuse was involved. Stiles had found out the hard way that people’s ex-relationships was usually a great indicator for how his relationship with them would work out.

“He’s a great guy.” Cora defended.

“Oh, I’m sure. Yeah. Totally sure. Cus great guys always get involved in abusive relationships.”

“Are you victim blaming?”

“Wait-wait, hold up. No I am not victim blaming.” He scoffed. “Please, I don’t victim blame. I’m doing the opposite, actually. I’m saying the victim has all the power. The power to ask for help, to say enough, to redefine what happened to them as something that made them stronger—and don’t give me that look, Cora.”

“You have no sympathy whatsoever.” She hissed.

“True.” Scott nodded. “Unless it’s family.”

“Well, am I your family Stiles?” Cora demanded.

“Um, yeah, you and my buddy are going to get married soon—right?”

“Stiles!” Scott looked at Cora, his face getting red. “Ex nay on the ring ay.”

“Please, I know it’s been in your sock drawer for a week now.” Cora said, turning back to Stiles. “Am I your family, or not?”

“Yes.” Stiles said. He grabbed for his milkshake, knowing somehow where this was going.

“Well, Derek is my family so he’s your family by association. You take care of family, don’t you?”

“What do you want me to do, Cora?” Stiles asked around his straw. “You want me to knock on his door and force him out of his house? Take him down to the park and buy him lunch and hold his hand?”

“Uh, no. I just wanted you to annoy him into going outside. But hell, that sounds good, too.” Her eyes had a dangerous glint to them. “You’re the only person I know who can pester someone until they die. Or give in.” Scott, the traitor, was nodding. “And I want detailed reports about these dates. You hurt him, you die.”

“You cannot pressure me into dating your brother.”

“Sure I can,” Cora said, smiling. “Not that you totally wouldn’t want to date him anyway.”

“He’s hot—but Cora. Red flags. Bad relationships.” Stiles could not stress that enough. He’d been hurt one too many times being sympathetic to a bad story and getting sucked into some crazy shit that broke his heart. 

“I’m… I’m going to tell you a story, Stiles. Then you’re going to tell me if you can honestly say that Derek isn’t a victim of circumstance.”

“Victims don’t exist in this world.”

“Says a guy who’s never had anything bad happen to him, ever.”

“My mom died.” He stressed, stabbing the table with his index finger. “You think bad things haven’t happened to me? My dad had a heart attack when he was alone. I lost my grant for school because of a clerical error. My mom fucking forgot who I was, said I was evil, and _died_. Bad things have happened to me.”

“Then have some sympathy, bro.” Scott said, still looking embarrassed about the ring.

“I don’t consider myself a _victim_ though. I don’t go around hating the world ‘cus of my sob stories.”

“Well, that’s because you’re you, dude.” Scott said, as Cora looked ready to throw down. He could recognize the look—Derek had a more extreme version of it, sure, but he knew what it meant when those Hale eyebrows tilted like that. “You’re the toughest person I know. Sometimes too tough, really. You only care about like, three things: family, curly fries, and your criminology degree.”

“How can someone who studies criminals be so cruel? Aren’t you going into the FBI or something? How can you not have sympathy for victims?” Cora asked.

“Because everyone is a victim, Cora. Everyone in this life has had something bad done to them. Do you want to know the statistics on female rape? How about the fact over half of them are done when a girl is underage and more vulnerable? Actually, you know what, let’s talk about abusive relationships since we're already there. Do you know how many abusive relationships aren’t reported? How many of those supposed ‘victims’ stay because of _circumstance_? Children, money—most of the time because they love the person being cruel to them? A lot, Cora. A lot. Did you know that gay people are more vulnerable to abusive relationships because cops don’t take it as seriously? Or when women are the batterers? Except, of course, when that woman happens to be black. Then she goes straight to anger management class and probably for a stint in jail. Half the time it’s because she’s defending herself or her children from a bad situation. Did you know that there are hardly any— _any_ abusive relief programs for trans people? That they are considered the most likely to be abused—”

“At least he’s not actually giving the statistics this time.” Scott muttered.

“I can!” Stiles angrily searched for his straw with his tongue before popping it into his mouth. “I can grab my damn text book and tell you! But Cora, the world is a sad, fucked up place. That’s really dark, yeah, but it’s also a beautiful place. A place filled with love and friendship and family. You got to make it happen, you got to look at the world and define for yourself if you’re a victim or a person looking for the beauty.”

“Okay, so if a guy’s entire family dies in a freak accident—I’m talking about parents, siblings, cousins, grandparents, aunts and uncles here. An entire _bloodline_. If they all end up dying in a freak accident and this sexy older lady comes by with an interest in you, telling you she’ll take care of you, give you what you need, what you’ve lost—would you not cling to that? Because it seems safe and because you’re looking for—what was it, that beauty in the world? Something to fill the sadness?”

“I mean—”

“And if she, over time, manipulates you to turn on your remaining family and to isolate yourself and pushes all those self-loathing, depressing buttons that came up because of your family’s death, would you not consider him a victim? Especially because he was too young to know _how_ to combat those things?”

“Okay—Okay, you’re—”

“ _And_ if, after the years have gone by and you’ve finally settled your grief and realized that your relationship was bad and you needed help, so you tried to break it off like an adult and she tried to kill you—would you not consider _that_ being a victim?”

“Yes, he’s—”

“But oh, no.” She slammed her back against the seat and crossed her arms. “It’s all about _attitude_ isn’t it? It’s all about shoving away the past _years_ of his life and saying that with an upbeat attitude and a little trying he can get the life he deserves. Get away from that victim shit and live the good life not bogged down by the years of pressured learned behavior—”

“Cora, Cora. Jesus. Okay.” Stiles sighed. “I get it. I’m an insensitive asshole. I’m sorry.”

“So you're finally admitting that by saying a victim is at fault for not trying hard enough to be happy—is _actually_ victim blaming?”

“Yes. Yes.” He sighed, running his hands through his air. “I’m an asshole. I’m sorry.” He should probably not push his personal ideologies onto other people—he’d learned this before but sometimes he needed to be reminded. Telling himself to try, to work harder for his dad and take care of him… it had been the only way he got through his grief when his mom died. But that was him. And Derek seemed to be on an entirely different level. Just like every person with unique circumstances. Some could be like him—just needing a good kick in the ass and a go get ‘em attitude—and others… needed support. Love. A person to tell them the world wasn’t all that bad. He should remember that.

“Thank god, I thought you guys were really going to get us kicked out before I finished my burger.” Scott said, shoving it into his mouth again.

“Just—give me his address,” Stiles said, sighing. He was going to regret this. He knew it.

\--

Derek lived in a really swank place. The bottom level was an independent architecture company but the top was renovated industrial apartments. He couldn’t help but admire how it was chic and grungy at the same time. Very Village material.

First thing on the schedule: get Derek Hale out of his apartment. Second thing: tease him for being a hipster.

Stiles knocked on the massive sliding metal door—because there was no doorbell—and waited. Cora said her ex, Isaac, would be home to let him in. But he felt weird standing in the hallway, preparing to meet a guy and somehow turn his life better. What could Stiles even do? Yes, he was great at pestering people till they gave in and did what he wanted, but could he even say he what he wanted was right for Derek? Stiles was a Sociologist. He knew about statistics and broader views and the systematic structures that built people’s lives. He didn’t know how to fix people or give them what they needed. He didn’t know how to give support, either. He helped as much as he could, but he wasn’t very _good_ at it. Shit, he’d tried tying up Scott to a radiator with chains one night so Scott wouldn’t go to a party and get his high school girlfriend pregnant. That had _not_ been helpful.

“Just talk to him. Just talk to him.” Stiles could do that. He was good at talking. No chains. No radiators.

Shit—did people talk to victims in a nice way? Like, a super soothing ‘oh hun’ way? Or did they speak raw truths? Stiles would want raw truths… so probably nice. He should go nice.

And he was also going insane. He knocked harder on the door, kicking it for good measure before it slid open in an angry jerk. “What—”

And Derek Hale had bed head. His black hair was sticking up in every direction and he was wearing pajamas and his feet were bare and… and he looked really freaked out. Like, I’m going to grab a bat and murder you freaked out. “What are you doing here? How did you know I lived here? Are you stalking me?”

“Wait wait, what?” Stiles threw up his hands, which made Derek take an aggressive step forward, fists balled at his sides. Those fists were shaking.

“Shit, Cora didn’t tell you—” Of course she didn’t.

“How do you fucking know Cora?” And all at once Stiles was being shoved back into a wall by a very big, muscular man. A man that smelled like Old Spice shower, whose breath smelled like cilantro. Whose fists were curled up in his chest so he could feel Derek’s knuckles on his pecks.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Stile was going to die. This was how. By being a nice guy. Yeah, story of his life.

“How do you know my sister—answer me. How long have you been stalking me? Before yoga—after?”

“Not… not stalking dude.” Stiles said. “You are so fucking scary. God.” Don’t mention the boner, don’t mention the boner. Derek was so close, though, that a few inches forward he’d be able to _feel_ Stiles’s boner—and how would that help anything? “Call her. Please. Don’t murder me, just call her. She’ll explain. I’m an old friend. It’s a coincidence.”

“Coincidences don’t happen like this in real life.” Derek said. But his eyes were scared. God, how had Stiles not noticed how sad Derek Hale’s eyes were?

“You don’t get out much.” Annndd—wrong thing to say.

Derek shoved Stiles back—which was impossible since he was right against the wall—and backed up. He held out his hand as if he was scared Stiles would jump him. “Stay right there. If this doesn’t check out I _will_ call the cops.”

“Yes yes.” Stiles’s neck ached from how vigorously he was nodding his head. “Jail. Handcuffs. Hole nine yards.” And _why_ did he have to think about handcuffs? It was not the time.

Standing half in his massive doorway, Derek took out his phone from his pocket and dialed his sister without looking away from Stiles. They seemed to wait forever until Cora finally answered. “Cora—stop. Do you know a weird guy? Babbles a lot, moles, whiskey colored eyes?”

“You think my eyes are whiskey colored?”

Derek didn’t answer. Instead, he listened. The more he listened, the more his face seemed to screw itself up into a furious ‘I’m going to kill you’ look that was even worse than his ‘how do you know my sister’ look. Stiles shuffled awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. Derek hung up on his sister without saying a word. Which took balls. Cora was—well, not as scary as him.

“So… it’s a nice day out.” Stiles offered. “Promise I won’t make you do yoga?”

“No.”

“No?” Stiles waited for more. “That’s all your going to say? Cus big guy, I need a little more verbal vernacular than a single word. I need communication. It’s how I live—it’s what I do. Without it I’d go crazy.” When Derek only crossed his arms, Stiles rubbed the back of his head. “Okay, here’s where I’m at. Communication, right? Well, your sister is damn scary and I don’t want to piss her off by going home without this—we don’t even have to call it a date. This outing. This community outing. She will hunt me down and eviscerate me. That and she’s gunna marry my best buddy and I can’t go two days without seeing my brother. I’ve tried. I get hives. Very toxic disease. Scott-withdrawals is a real thing. So you see where I’m at here? One hour, two tops. Then I won’t have my balls pinned to the wall.”

“Cora’s… getting married?” And there it was—that magically something that lived under all the angst and anger and— _whatever_ it was that fueled Derek Hale. It was kind of magical, actually. Better than his face or his muscular body. It was soft and good and looked so, so kind.

Stiles—Stiles felt it was a shame that Derek couldn’t show that side of himself more. That he didn’t feel comfortable being vulnerable. In fact, he kind of got why Cora talked non-stop about hating Kate Argent. Seeing that soft look, knowing it was there and had been buried by a bad relationship—well, Stiles was starting to hate Kate Argent a lot, too.

“Yeah, dude. Scott hasn’t proposed yet—he’s waiting for the weekend. He rented a boat and a fancy place to make them food. It’ll be romantic, I hear. She knows about it though, and they're like, head over heels for one another. Sometimes it can get a little gross, actually. But they’re in it for the long haul.” He smiled. “Scott, he treats her good. Kind of like a princess, actually, it pisses her off a little, but he’s devoted and he’s attentive and he’s kind. He—” he’d never try to kill her if she broke up with him.

“Scott does silly shit, right? He’d kind of a goofball. Well, he learned to love French New Wave films for her. Cus she loves them so much. We had to sit down and dissect _Breathless_ and man, was that fucking hard. But he did it for her. Cus that’s the kind of guy he is. He wanted to share something she enjoyed and be able to talk about it. So… yeah. Great guy.”

“I… I’ve never met him.” Derek glared down at his crossed arms.

“You want to?” Stiles smiled. “After all, you got the whole ‘scary big brother’ thing down pat. I bet you could make him piss his pants when you threaten that if he ever hurts her, he’ll die.” Derek’s head slowly looked up. For a second, he looked lost. Stiles had no idea why. Was it because that was also a father’s job? Because he was thinking about his past? Or someone hurting his sister? Stiles… couldn’t guess. The guy didn’t talk much. “C’mon, I got a whole thing planned. After we can go say hi.”

“Stiles?”

“Yes hunny bun?”

Derek sighed heavily through his nose. “Get inside. I’ll get dressed.”

“That’s not what you were going to say.” Stiles said, eagerly walking past Derek. He made sure to give the guy his personal space. The doorway sure was big enough for it. Inside was a posh living room set, a massive wall of windows for natural sunlight, a high-end kitchen, and one of those wrought iron spiral staircases that looked fun to slide down but would probably lead to his timely death. He was clumsy on a good day.

He turned around to make Derek tell him what was on his mind—but the guy was already gone. At the end of the living room wall was a door that softly clicked shut.

Stiles took the time to call Cora. She answered almost immediately. “Is he going for it?”

“You!” Stiles pointed in front of him, even though there was no one to point at. “Mean! I mean, shit, he thought I was stalking him. Why didn’t you tell him I was coming?”

“Because he’d run! I thought Isaac would be there to greet you and smooth things over. He’s not there?”

“No—not that I can see. Shit.” He rearranged himself. Over the course of the conversation his raging boner had gone down, but now he felt a little sick with blue balls. He had a feeling that a lot of his tepid ‘let’s get you out into the world’ thing with Derek would lead to a lot of blue balls.

“Well, it worked out.”

“Don’t sound smug right now.”

“It _did_ —”

The door opened. A tall guy with curly hair walked in. “Oh, your Stiles, right? How’d you get in?”

“You.” Stiles hung up on Cora because that was a thing people did now. He turned to the tall curly haired guy. He really didn’t look like Cora’s type—at least, he didn’t look anything like Scott. “You were supposed to be here! I nearly got killed!”

“Traffic.” He said, shrugging as if it meant nothing.

“You—you—”

“Cora told me you were a bit dramatic. Chill, dude.” Isaac shut the door. “Alls well that ends well.”

“I don’t like you. Or your scarf.” It was purple. Stiles decided he didn’t like purple.

“Whatever.” Isaac rolled his eyes, “Hey, Derek, you’re actually going through with this?”

Stiles turned to see Derek leaving his bedroom. His hair was brushed and he was wearing jeans and boots and a jacket. He looked good—as always—and a lot like he had in the yoga studio, all tense and frustrated. “I need to get out anyways.” Derek said, shrugging.

“All right.” Isaac shrugged. “Hey, my girlfriend and I are going to order in tonight, any good Thai around here?”

“Sure, menus are in the utility drawer.” Derek grabbed his keys from a bowl and opened the door. “Come on, Stiles.” And he was gone. Just like that. Walking out.

“Rude.” Stiles muttered, following. “Everyone in this house is so rude.”

\--

True to his word, he took Derek to Central. Well, Derek took him since he refused to get into Stiles’s Jeep. Instead they rode in Derek’s swank Camero. “I just don’t get why you’d call it a death trap. She’s wonderful!”

“We’re still talking about that?” Derek asked. They were walking down the path together, passing by bicyclists and runners and food stalls and people on their phones. It was a cold day, but not too bad.

“Yes. Obviously. Because I am offended, Derek. My baby is priceless. And wonderful. And she only breaks down some of the time—not all the time. At least not in three months!”

“So she’s due for a smoking caddie?”

“Y—” Stiles stopped walking. He waited till Derek realized and turned around, that frown line between his eyebrows. “You just made a joke. You’re _sassy_.”

“And you’re a lot more hyper than I thought you’d be.” He said. “You weren’t so hyper in the studio.”

“The studio is my zen place. My funk-shwayed place of biz-natch.”

“Please, do not ever say that again.”

“What? Funk-shwayed? Biz-natched?”

“Yes.”

Stiles snorted. He caught up with Derek and they resumed their walk. “So, tell me about yourself, Derek.”

“You’ve probably heard it all from Cora by now.” He seemed a little sad by that, a little freaked out.

“Sure, I’m not gunna lie she told _a lot_ of personal information that, you know, probably wouldn’t be told without getting to know someone first. But hey, I know. You know I know. We’ve got it out of the way. Here, I’ll even tell you something fucked up about me. That way we’re on an even playing field.

“My mom, she got this disease when I was a kid that kind of messed up her brain. Picks is a lot like early onset dimension only instead of forgetting who you are, your brain rewires itself to make you think you’re a _different_ person. Or, I guess, a better way of putting it would be that all your inhibitions are gone and you’re allowed to be a version of yourself you’d never want to be. Anyway, my mom got really paranoid really fast. For some reason, she also got super into porn and sexual acts. Don’t ask me why—I have no idea. Other than not being her, she was… well… shit, how can you say your wife if cheating on you and not acting like she used to and demand she get an MRI? No one says that kind of shit. So we didn’t catch it till she broke a mirror and tried to get the glass. _Then_ she got an MRI. It was too late to help her. The divorce was halfway through by then and she was starting to forget who I was. She was hospitalized and about three months later she forgot who I was. Thought I was trying to kill her for some reason. Thought I was evil. Really fucked me up there for a while. I’d have these dreams, once she was gone, about my dad blaming me for her death… he turned into an alcoholic there for a while and ate so bad he got heart problems. So I started taking care of him. He’s the police chief at my hometown.”

“The one you and Scott are from?”

“Hey, you pay attention.” No one ever paid attention like that.

Derek said nothing. “So, you know my story. I know yours. Tell me about who you _really_ are. Cus it's my personal belief that you’re not your story.” He waited. They walked down the road together in silence and for some reason it was nice. Really nice. Usually Stiles hated the silence and would try to fill it would conversation but… it was different with Derek. He wasn’t awkward about Stiles telling him his deep-dark thing. Wasn’t trying to give Stiles sympathy—which Stiles _hated_ —and wasn’t making a big deal out of it. Instead they were just walking. Enjoying the Fall day.

“I’ve always liked to draw. That’s what I do most days. There’s this coffee shop a few blocks from my house I really like. Ah… I have two roommates.”

Stiles didn’t want to think about whether Derek was so sparse with his information because he was highly selective, or if it was because that literally was his life. “How’d you know your roommates? Where from?”

“I met Boyd from the gym. Isaac I know from Cora.”

“Isn’t that awkward? Rooming with your sister’s ex?”

“No. Not really. We hardly see each other anyways.” Derek looked over at him. “He’s got a new girlfriend and I think he’s living over there. This’ll probably be his last month.”

“Shit, what are you going to do for rent after that?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, he helps pay for rent, right? How much does a building like that cost?”

“I own it, so nothing anyway. Just property tax and business tax. And the business pays for it all anyway.” Derek frowned up at the trees they were passing under. “I.. don’t have roommates for the money. I have them because…”

“Because living with people is nice.” Stiles nodded. He got that, he did. He _hated_ being alone and living alone.

“Yeah.”

“Favorite food?”

“Ramen.”

“Like, the 10 cent kind?” Weird to imagine that being anyone’s favorite food. Especially for a guy who owned a building in the Village and didn’t have to worry about rent. Stiles only at the stuff unless he had to.

“Yeah.” Defensive, he looked over at Stiles.

“That sounds dope, dude. Which flavor?”

“Beef.” He looked away, frowning at the ground. “It’s not very healthy—”

“Dude. I have such unhealthy habits. I’m pretty sure when my metabolism dies down at thirty and I don’t change my eating habits I’m going to be as fat as a house.” Derek, arching an eyebrow, looked Stiles up and down. “Totally true, dude. I’m a fattie at heart.” He patted his stomach through his coat. “I looovvee me some food.”

“Are you… hungry?”

“Why yes, Derek. I’d love to get some lunch with you.”

And that was a half-smile on Derek’s lips. Stiles was going to consider that an accomplishment.

\--

After the movie they walked to Scott and Cora’s place. So far, their third date had gone well—really well. Stiles was openly calling them dates now, anyway. “They’re still both at work but hey, I got a key.”

“Why.”

“Because, dude. This is my bro’s house.” They opened the door with the code and Stiles jumped up the steps two at a time. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because that’s weird.”

“You’re weird!” He spun around and took four steps down so he could boop Derek on the nose before rushing back up. Stiles unopened up 2B without much of a problem. “Sooo—tada?” He waved around the cluttered apartment. At the second-hand couch and the massive TV with all the cords spilling out from behind it. At the random clothes and cartons of food and beer bottles and dirty dishes. It smelled a little funky and there was a massive stain on the carpet from when Stiles had been drunk and spilled an entire bottle of wine.

“When… ah… are they getting back?”

“Hmm? Bout an hour I guess. Scott gets home a little before Cora does. You play xbox?”

“No.”

“Want to?”

“No.”

“Ahhh…. Wanna smoke?”

“I don’t smoke?”

“Mind if I do?”

“Sure? Cora lets you smoke cigarettes in her apartment?”

“Oh, dude.” Stiles scoffed and threw his jacket on the back of the couch. It fell off and hit the floor as he grabbed the bong from under the kitchenette sink. “No, she would not let me some a cigarette in her apartment.”

“Oh. Weed.” Derek looked at it like it was the first time he’d ever seen a bong.

“Partake?” Stiles jiggled it a little so the water sloshed against the sides. It was a beautiful piece that he and Scott had pitched in to buy at a store in California. It looked like a massive dragon and the stem was specially built to be the dragon’s tongue.

“Yes.”

Stiles froze. “Wait, seriously?” He looked Derek up and down again. Same leather jacket, same angry glare, same stiff shoulders. Still Derek.

“Yes?” He shuffled on his feet, frowning. “I mean, if you don’t want to share—”

“No! No! I just didn’t think you smoked. You thought I was talking about _cigarettes_. Come on, big guy—sit down, make yourself comfortable. It’s time for some shmokin’ time.”

“Stiles?” Derek still hadn’t moved from the doorway.

“Yes Dear-bear?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Dear-bear?”

“No. Shmokin’.”

“You just did.” Stiles pointed out, grinning. He threw himself on the couch and grabbed the Rick and Morty box with the stash in it. He’d make sure to give a nug to them later as he grabbed the grinder to make the bowl. “So, are you like, a secret pot-head?”

“Yeah.” Stiles looked up as Derek made a careful walk towards the couch.

“Really?”

“No, Stiles. I haven’t smoked in years. Not since I was a teenager.”

“Oh. Well, then this shit’ll fuck you up.”

“Great.”

“You’re a really dry guy, you know that?” It had taken him a while to learn when Derek _was_ joking, actually. But over the past few dates he was getting to know Derek-language very well. Most of it had to do with eyebrows. And little ticks like him rubbing his chest or looking angry. Stiles knew not to expect much conversation from him until the date had been going on for at least twenty minutes—if he pushed before Derek got comfortable, he ran to the bathroom. But once he got into the groove of things he could get Derek to talk for hours.

“Really? I thought I was wet.”

“Oh-ho!” Stiles pointed at him with the grinder. “Funny. Are you wet for me Derek?”

Derek had this wonderful ability to look totally bland at the funniest of times. He’d be great at poker. “I don’t know, Stiles. Am I?”

“I think you are big guy.” Stiles made kissy faces at him. “I think you’re totally hot for all this wonderful man-lovin right here.”

“Doesn’t mean I can get wet, Stiles.”

“Sure, precum my dude.” He loved it when Derek made huge sighs. “Hey, you want green?”

“You go ahead.”

Stiles took a huge hit, milking the bowl before releasing the stem and clearing it in a single hit. “Ahhh—” He said, trying to hold it all in his lungs. He pointed to the bowl, trying to show it was still cherried before passing it. Derek took a small hit and coughed most of it out. “Yeah, dude.” He said, laughing. “It has been a while for you.”

“Shu—” Derek couldn’t even talk. He was couching too much. Stiles took the bowl from him and took another hit before putting it down on the coffee table between them.

“So, Derek.” Stiles leaned back, sinking into the couch as the weed spread through his muscles and his head. “Why’d you never come back to yoga?”

“Because of you.” It was an instantaneous response. Quickfire. And it hurt. Stiles tried to hide it but he was pretty sure it was written all over his face because Derek did another one of heavy sighs. “Not like that, Stiles. You… intimidate me.”

“I? Intimidate you? I’m not the snarling underwear model, thank you very much.”

“Don’t get pissy.” Derek said, falling back onto the couch, too. His eyes were getting red, droopy. “You’re all—big personality. You talk a lot. It’s intimidating.”

“Most people just call me annoying.”

“You’re not.” Derek looked over, the back of his head resting on the couch, so his neck was elongated and exposed. The stubble ending beyond his jawline in a nice neat line, contrasting the lower half of his face with the smooth look of his Adam’s Apple.

“What?” Stiles looked up.

“You’re not annoying.”

“What am I?” He’d leaned in too far—breaking that careful bubble he’d been using all day—hell, for the past three dates. It was exciting. He could feel his heart pumping heavy and hard in his chest, feel the first, aching sensation of his dick waking up. He’d been up and down all day, feeling chubbies, hard ons, and the throbbing pain of blue balls. Because Derek had bent over in front of him to grab trash off the ground. Because he smiled during the movie when Frida Khalo danced. Because when he thought he wasn’t being paid attention to his face would get soft and he’d look out the window and…

And Stiles had been careful all day. For three dates he hadn’t leaned in close or touched the guy. They’d talked about—shit, everything. Movies, books, what Derek had wanted to be when he grew up, his art, Stile’s job, his father. Their families. Everything. And Derek was not scary. He was not a big pissy ball of rage like Stiles thought he was when he came into the yoga studio. He was stupid caring. He liked cats better than dogs. He lit up when he was given encouragement and praise. He was a vivid debater when it came to politics. He loved baseball.

And he might just be Stiles’s goddamn soulmate.

So yeah, he was leaning in. “You’re… Stiles.”

“Yeah, I know my name big guy.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“What?” Stiles looked up from Derek’s parted lips into his red eyes.

“Why do you call me big guy?”

“Because you’re a wall of goddamn muscle, Derek.”

“And that’s… beautiful to you?” He was rubbing his chest again. Dammit—Stiles had managed to go a full two hours without him doing that. He grabbed Derek’s wrist to make him stop, liking the contact of skin.

“Sure Derek, physically you’re off the charts. You got a great ass and your eyes and pretty and you know you're hot. Don’t tell me you weren’t trying to work your charm on that old lady to let us cut in line at the ATM. I’m a red blooded male, I can appreciate a beautiful outside. I’d fuck you in a heartbeat.”

He watched Derek’s throat bob. Watched the light go out of his red eyes as he said, “Oh.”

“I don’t want to fuck you, Derek. I want more of this.” He squeezed Derek’s hand and let it go. It didn’t go back to rubbing Derek’s sternum. “I want more talks. I want to hang out. Show you my favorite shit. Have you show me yours. I wanna be there with you at your sister’s wedding. I want you to get to know Scotty. I want to hear more of your terrible dry humor—and hear you rant about Chris Collins for another hour again. Smoke with you. Get to know you.” Stiles shrugged. “I won’t fuck you until you want to be fucked. By then, I’ll probably even love you.”

“You… are intense.”

“Yeah. I’ve been told I get too serious too quick.” Stiles sat up, putting his elbows on his knees. He thought about taking another bong rip but decided against it.

“Did I tell you about Lydia, yet? Light of my life. My unrequited love in high school.” He looked over his shoulder at Derek, who was still melded to the couch. “That was when I was—confused, I guess. I knew I liked dudes I just didn’t know how much. I kept telling myself ‘it’s just ‘cus all the females aren’t right’. I don’t know what I was fooling myself for. It’s not like I was scared of being gay. Not like I thought anyone would dislike me for it, either. Just… I saw her and I thought ‘there’s this beautiful girl and I like her’. She was unobtainable and she was—god, great at everything. Only she played up being stupid and good looking so she’d have a lot of shallow friendships. High school shit, you know? No one likes Hermione until Hermione turns into a bad ass. But I knew she was a badass, even when she was pretending to be dumb and—am I making any sense?” He was rambling more than usual.

“Kind of.”

“Right. Well, she was smart and unavailable and I loved her. Never talked to her a day in my life but I still loved her. I thought we were going to get together and date and I saw visions of little red headed babies and shit.” Stiles rubbed his hair with both his hands, just so he could bow his head. “I—never even had a real conversation with her. It was the fantasy. The thought of her. I get in my head. Been that way with every relationship I've ever been in. I put them up on these pedestals and I love every imperfection and I--go hard. And quickly. I get this feeling and then it’s just—there. People think it’s creepy. Maybe it is."

It's why he avoided the red flags. The bad relationship histories. Because once he was in--he was in. And he usually didn't notice how bad things were getting until his family told him something was wrong. He owed them his life, he knew.

"Kate was the same way." Stiles felt those words like a stone in his gut, a sinking, horribly hot weight. "It was fast--so fast. One second we were talking, then having sex, then planning on where we were going to move in together. No questioning anything, no doubts. We had money and we had love. Things... didn't get bad till later."

"I'm not... like her, Derek. I'm not. I don't abuse--I don't demand. Well, no, I demand but I don't demand--"

"She didn't either." Derek murmured. "Everyone assumes they know her because of what she did to me. They don't. Hell, I don't. She wasn't a bad person, Stiles. She wasn't some villain that slowly turned evil over the course of our relationship. She was just a woman who wanted me to be something I wasn't. Who loved too hard, too much."

"What she did was fucked up." Stiles hissed.

"No doubt." Derek nodded his heavy head, sighing more. "The entire thing was fucked up. But there were good moments, too. Sometimes, the good memories are the worst ones." Stiles watched him rub his chest.

“Just… come out with me again." Stiles said. "Or don't. If you want to... Let’s take this one step at a time. Just know that if you have any doubts or thoughts or whatever, if you think it’s not gunna work, you _have_ to tell me. Even if it means you still want to be my friend and you think it’s awkward or whatever—you have to. Cus in my head, I’ll just see forever.”

And that was the worst, most horrible thing to say to a guy out of a bad relationship, wasn’t it? It sounded like... Kate had been similar.

Where was the line between abusive, toxic relationship and just two broken people trying to be together without altering who they were at their core?

But Derek was smiling softly in his high state, looking so soft and wonderful and kind. There was something about his eyes, some way they managed to convey this kind of pure, gentle warmth. Stiles was getting addicted to it. “Communication is key with you.”

“Yes.” He laughed. “Yeah.”

He was glad then that the door opened and Scott walked in. “Oh, shit, it smells like weed in _heee-rree_.” He yelled. “Party!” And then a body was flying over the back of the couch and Stiles was getting a facefull of Scott. “Oh—who—”

Stiles shoved Scott off him, watching him roll onto the floor. “Who are you dude?” Scott asked. “I’m Scott.”

“Ahh…” Derek was back to his tight self, sitting upright and frowning at Scott.

“Derek, meet Scott. Scott, Derek. You guys are going to be brothers.”

“Ooooohh.” Scott sat up fully. “Wow, you do look a lot like her. Only, wow, eyebrows.” Scott wiggled his own. “I totally get why you kept talking about them, Stiles.”

“They’re legendary.” Stiles agreed.

“So legendary.”

“I… think I want to go to the bathroom, now.” Derek said, voice tense.

“Want to?” Scott asked, frowning.

“Last hall on the left, man.” And Derek was already up and running.

“Dude.” Scott said, when the bathroom door closed. “You’re right. He’s hot. I think he might have turned me a little gay.”

“Wait till you get to know him Scotty.” Stiles said, reaching for the bong.

\--

“Derek, you’re so coming to yoga.”

“I don’t _want_ to.” Derek said, voice distorted over the phone.

“Why noootttt.” Stiles ignored the look he got from the man in front of him in line. “C’mon! You love doing yoga with me at home. And you meditate like, every day. You’re getting really good at it!”

“Erica annoys me.”

“Everyone annoys you.”

“Because people are annoying.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes. You are.”

“Hey, hey sir.” Stiles tapped the guy on his shoulder, watching him turn around.  He had tired eyes and a crumpled tie. “Am I annoying to you?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well, nice to meet you too, fellow NewYorkian.” The guy flipped him the bird. “He said no, fyi.”

“Stiles, your impossible.”

“I know.” He smiled at the guy’s back. _Don’t say I love you, Don’t say I love you_. It was too soon. Was it too soon? It had been three months. Stiles had fallen in love by the first week. It was not too soon for him—but for Derek, maybe. So Stiles would keep it inside for now and show it through bickering and actions. And verbal praise. Derek  _melted_ for verbal praise. So that's what Stiles would give him. For now.

Only, he was sure that Derek kind of loved him, too. Or at least, trusted him. Which was better than love when it came to Derek. Derek trusted _no one_ but his sisters. But Derek hadn’t even shown his sister’s his scars or his tattoos of Kate’s words. He’d shown Stiles that—and Stiles, out of respect—had not cried. He had not threated to murder Kate Argent the second she got out of jail.

Instead, he’d touched them and he’d kissed them. He also licked the flames Derek had on his forearms. They’d been slow to take off each other’s clothes and slow to tease each other into orgasms before Derek told him about his hatred for legos and Stiles told him about his love of curly fries. After they’d watched half an episode of _Haunting of Hill House_ together before going to Cora’s wedding rehearsal. Derek had held his hand through the entire meal, so Stiles had to eat with his left hand. He’d gotten soup all over his good shirt. It had been amazing.

“I—”

“Hm?” Stiles asked. Had he spaced out again?

“Stiles?”

“Yeah hunny bun, I’m here.” He stepped forward, only three people away from much needed coffee before his morning class.

“I want to tell you something.”

“Tell me then.” Usually ‘I want to tell you something’ came with random knowledge. Sometimes it would be heavy. He’d say it before he told Stiles that his family all had empty graves because they couldn’t tell whose bones were which, and the ashes from the wood was indistinguishable from the ashes of bodies. Or he’d tell Stiles that Laura used to be his best friend. Or, he’d say that his favorite cheese was sharp cheddar or that he found a really pretty wall mural while he was walking around outside.

“I got a new tattoo.” He hung up then. Stiles waited patiently for the text to come in. He knew no matter how many times he talked to Derek, the guy would just never understand phone etiquette.

He squinted at the picture. The tattoo itself was a cursive, flowy quote of some kind over the heart that covered his bypass surgery scar. It said, _Well hello there, eyebrows_.

Stiles called him back with a huge smile on his face. “Dude—what?”

“It’s the first words you ever said to me.”

“I like it.” _Don’t say I love you_.

“Can I tell you why I got it?”

“You don’t have to ask, Dear-bear.”

“It’s because… I have so many tattoos of things that have ended in my life. Scars and past memories. I wanted a tattoo of something beautiful, something that’s just starting.”

“Oh.” _Don’t say I lo—_

“I love you.”

For a second Stiles thought he was the one who’d said it. But no, it had been Derek’s soft, tender voice over the phone. And Stiles—okay, Stiles screamed. Just a little. Or a lot, depending on how high the guy in front of him jumped. “Forget my first hour—I’m coming over right now.” He was already out of the door. Fuck coffee.

“I—”

“I love you too, obviously. Fuck I’m so glad I can say it now. I love you I love you I love you.”

Derek laughed over the phone, which was the best sound in the world. “Yeah, you know that promise you made me a while back?”

“What?”

“About how when you fucked me you’d probably already love me?”

They kissed. A lot. And groped. And held hands. And seen each other naked. And spooned. And all that good stuck. But not sex—well, not _penetration_ sex. Really, a gay guy could live off blowjobs and handjobs and grinding when it was good enough. But the idea of being _inside_ —

“Are you…” Stiles had stopped walking without being conscious of it. Someone slammed their shoulder into him and told him to move his ass, but he stood still, trying to listen over the sounds of traffic.

“I mean, I have lube. And Condoms. Also, I may have bought a bunch of flowers and scattered them everywhere. My apartment smells weird ‘cus of it.”

“Twenty minutes Derek. Twenty goddamn minutes and I’ll be there.”

“See you soon.” And he hung up. Stiles started jogging down 31st to get to the station. Halfway there he looked at his phone for the time and saw a message from Derek. It was a dick pic. Of a very large and erect cock in pink lace, the head peeking out and dripping. There was a light dusting of curled pubes peeking out through the pink.

He put his phone in his pocket and full out sprinted.


End file.
